If I Had a Heart
by Alien Under the Bed
Summary: Norway wants to love Denmark but cannot, because he has no heart. Well, Denmark is going to make sure he gets one. Warning: disturbing content. Not for the fainthearted.


**A/N: **Just something that came to me while I was listening to "If I Had a Heart" by Fever Ray.

* * *

Denmark sat on the sofa, twirling his axe slowly in his hands. A thin beam of sunlight hovered from in between the white Venetian blinds, illuminating the dust in the air. His axe flashed in the sunlight with a silver wink.

_"I'm sorry, Denmark," _Norway had said as sincerely as his personality would allow him. _"If I had a heart, I could love you. But I do not, so I cannot."_

Denmark flicked his wrist and twisted the axe more quickly. A silver reflection of light spun around the room, mirroring the axe's dangerous dance. He glanced down at his watch. He should be arriving any minute now.

_Denmark had stared at the Norwegian, not a single emotion betrayed in his expression. Then he straightened a little and clutched his axe more firmly in his hand. "Then I will find one for you."_

The sound of a key entering the lock interrupted the silence, and Denmark laid his axe carefully on the floor, pushing it under the long sofa until it was concealed from view. The door opened and Iceland stepped through, a bag of groceries hanging from his closed fist. He started at the sight of the Danish man.

"Denmark?" he breathed, startled. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Denmark's wide, trademark grin spread across his face as smoothly as butter across a sweet roll.

"Relax, Ice," he said. "I used the key from under your doormat. You seriously need to find a better hiding place for it."

He strode over to Iceland and slung a friendly arm around him, taking his grocery bag and setting it down next the umbrella stand. He closed the door with his heel and turned him towards the sofa. Iceland eyed the shut door nervously but allowed himself to be led.

"Calm down that overactive, paranoid brain of yours," Denmark ordered him reassuringly. "I just need a small favor."

Iceland raised a thin, untrusting eyebrow.

"What do you want from me?"

Denmark's grin lowered slightly. "Just a small favor," he repeated quietly, like a child who knows his parents will not grant his request but is determined to try anyways. He let his chin hang closer to his chest.

"Norge rejected me," he admitted. Iceland's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh. I didn't know you - "

"Love him? Yes." He smiled ruefully.

Iceland's normally stoic expression softened. "Sorry."

Denmark shrugged as if to say all was well, even as his heart gave an ached pulse in his chest. "No worries," he said as cheerfully as he could. Iceland nodded but then frowned.

"That really sucks and everything," he mumbled in his monotonous tone, which was trying its best to convey his sympathy but failing appallingly, "But I am afraid I still do not understand what you need from me."

Denmark bounced one heel lightly against the bottom of the sofa, taking care not to jostle the axe underneath.

"Do you know why he rejected me?" he asked instead. Iceland looked as if he could come up a few good reasons, but Denmark quickly continued before they could be brought to light.

"He told me that he wanted to love me," he whispered, leaning towards Iceland conspiratorially, "But he couldn't. Want to know why?"

Iceland was about to answer that he did not, in fact, particularly care to know, but once again Denmark saw this and spoke before he could.

"Because he has no heart."

Iceland cast him a skeptical, almost disinterested look. "He has no heart?"

"Told me himself," Denmark replied, as if that concluded the matter.

"Okay," said Iceland slowly, trying to make sense of the information he had just received. "That's...interesting, I suppose...but I really don't see what it has to do with me. What is it that you want?"

Denmark's usually wide, friendly grin slowly turned dark and sinister. He leaned over the sofa and slid his hand underneath, wrapping his fingers around the cold handle of the axe.

"What I want from you," he finally said, "Is your heart."

Iceland frowned in confusion but had no time to piece together Denmark's words before the axe was thrust violently into his chest. _What are you talking about? _he wanted to say, but the only sound that exited his mouth was a bloody garble. He felt himself sliding sideways until the upper half of his body hung off the arm of the sofa. Denmark placed a heavy, booted foot on Iceland's abdomen and grasped the axe with both hands. He grunted as he began to pull it out, keeping Iceland firmly in place with his boot as he twisted and jerked the handle. It finally dislodged from his chest with a wet squelch.

Iceland looked up at Denmark, his chest shuddering feebly. Confusion still clouded his lavender eyes, steadily being replaced by the distant, glazed shroud of death. By the time Denmark had lifted the axe over his head again and swung it back down, Iceland's eyes were completely devoid of life.

Denmark was now twisting the axe side-to-side, widening the cavity in Iceland's chest. When he was satisfied that the opening was wide enough, he stood the axe head-down against the sofa and reached inside, the slippery blood making for an easier entry. He felt around blindly until his hand wrapped around a warm, meaty object. He gave a sharp tug and it disconnected from its tendinous chords with a series of rubbery, snapping sounds.

He pulled a red handkerchief from his back pocket and carefully wrapped it around the heart, tucking the wet bundle into the inside of his coat. Then he carefully wiped clean the blade of his axe, rested it on his shoulder, and walked out the door towards Norway's house.

* * *

Norway answered on the doorbell's second ring.

"Yeah, what is it?" he asked in the same monotonous tone as Iceland. "I already told you why I can't."

"But you can!" shouted Denmark, not to be deterred. He was so excited and pleased with himself that he could hardly stand still, and was bouncing from one foot to the other. "Please, let me come inside and I'll show you."

Norway eyed him with an air of exasperation but finally relented.

"Alright, fine," he sighed, closing the door behind Denmark, "But I'm not changing my mind."

"I'll be the judge of that," Denmark remarked slyly, reaching into his coat pocket. "Remember how you said that you can't love me, because you don't have a heart?"

"Of course I remember," Norway replied dryly, his ever present scowl in place. His eyes, however, were beginning to look worried.

"Well, I went to Iceland's house," continued Denmark, unable to contain his glee as he took out the wrapped heart, "And I got one for you."

There was a pause. "You got one _what_ for me?" Norway asked very slowly.

Denmark simply grinned. "Open it."

Hesitantly, Norway took the bundle from Denmark's outstretched hand and unwrapped the handkerchief. He stood there for a long moment, staring at it. Most of the blood had coagulated at this point, but the heart still retained some of its warmth, having been nestled inside Denmark's coat. Being without oxygen for so long, however, it was no longer a healthy pink but instead a dull, dead grey. There were some jagged tears in the muscle from when the axe had broken Iceland's sternum and caused razored edges of bone to puncture his heart.

Norway blinked uncomprehendingly and looked up at Denmark, then back down at the heart again.

"Y-you said...you said you went to...to Iceland's house?" he stuttered, a wave of horror beginning to creep upon him. Denmark nodded rapidly, thrilled. Norway blinked at the heart again, still struggling to understand.

"So then...this," he continued, holding up the heart a little," This is...Iceland's?"

At this, Denmark shook his head. "Not anymore. Now it's yours."

Norway's eyes flicked towards the axe still slung over Denmark's shoulder. He suddenly felt very sick.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Denmark asked worriedly, noticing how the blood drained from the Norwegian's face. He stepped towards him but Norway jerked back, nearly tripping over a rug in his haste to keep the distance between them. The hand holding the heart began to tremble.

Denmark frowned anxiously. Now he was the one confused. "I got it for you, so you can have a heart. Isn't that what you wanted?" He tried to come closer again and Norway took another step back. "Aren't you happy? I just wanted you to love me."

Norway's eyes widened in shock and then softened almost imperceptibly. "Don't you understand, Mathias?" he asked sadly, like a parent who has tried and failed to make his child understand why he cannot always get what he wants. "I can never love you. Heart or no heart. It was a figure of speech...I didn't think you would take it literally." Guilt flashed in his forget-me-not eyes. "Iceland..." he started, then choked. His hand tightened and loosened interchangeably on the heart, which was starting to grow cold.

Denmark shook his head slowly, unwilling to accept what he was hearing. He had gotten the heart; there should be no problem now. What was going on? He shut his eyes and gripped the handle of his axe until his knuckles whitened. This was all wrong.

"But...but I..." he stammered, overwhelmed with confusion. Norway reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder but he jerked back, their roles now reversed. "NO!" he bellowed. Norway flinched, and his normally expressionless face looked suddenly scared.

"Mathias - " he began, but was cut off when Denmark clutched his arm in one ursine hand and shoved him against a wall. The top point of the axe's curved blade dug painfully into his chest.

"No!" Denmark repeated, more quietly this time, but still firmly. "No. You said you needed a heart. I got one for you. Now try it on."

Norway sucked in a terrified breath but it was too late; holding him against the wall with one hand, Denmark swung the axe back with his other hand and drove it into Norway's chest. Norway slowly released the breath he had inhaled in one weak, shaky huff, and tried to draw in another but found that his lungs would not cooperate. For a moment he simply stood there, gasping soundlessly for air, before his knees folded of their own accord and he sank down the wall, leaving a red trail to mark his descent into the afterlife. He was dead by the time Denmark managed to wrench the axe free from his chest.

Denmark peered into the cavity like surgeon inspecting his incision, then carefully inserted the bottom of the axe handle into the hole. Using it like a lever, he pried open Norway's chest, the sternum and ribs giving way with a symphony of cracks. Once all the bones were out of the way, Denmark used the blade of his axe to gently saw through some of the lung tissue overlapping Norway's heart. Once finished, he coaxed the heart out with a few sharp pulls.

"This doesn't work," he muttered, setting it carelessly aside. "It's not a real heart."

He grabbed Norway's hand and gently unraveled the stiffening fingers until he had access to Iceland's heart. He set it inside Norway's chest where the fake heart used to be, and tied the tendinous chords together with careful little knots. He leaned back on his heels to admire his work, then pulled the flap of skin, sternum, and ribs back over Norway's chest cavity like a door closing over a newly furnished room.

"There," he said, smiling. "Now you can love me."


End file.
